just follow the cat

10th Data Point: the cold returns

11:53PM (37°F), Thursday, February 18th

Baltimore, Maryland

By nightfall, the wind that greeted Baltimore that morning had shifted directions. At first, it had blown from the south. By noon, it was from the west and a few hours later it was blowing steadily from the north-northwest. Cold air poured into the city and once again Buffalo was being delivered to Baltimore by invisible hands. To anyone foolish enough to live outside, it was obvious that the dreary days of mid-winter had resumed.

A few blocks east of Louie's Bookstore and Café, Cassandra Lailoni Antone curled up for another night on the steep slope below the highway bridge. This was her home. Above her, trucks rumbled by. Beside her, a cat purred. Around her, frost formed on last year's scrubby brown grass still poking through cracks in the concrete.

In a warm hotel a few blocks north of there, Alba Quisling got out of bed to dress herself. The man who had been beside her for most the day was sleeping still. Not wanting to wake him, Alba scurried about the pitch-dark room to be sure that she had everything that she had brought with her. As she opened the door to leave, she was only mildly surprised to see her sister dozing in the hallway. Alba nudged Jolie with the toe of her shoe. "Time to go, sister. And don't make any noise."

Two blocks south of the hotel, Ril Park was enjoying the company of another partner. She was in the same bed that she had shared with Bob Juet and was now lying beside a man whose first name she believed to be Chris. She was okay. In fact, she was happy. Chris (or whatever his name was) had been kind to her, so Ril was kind to him. She got out of bed and gathered together the man's socks, his belt, pants, and shirt – all of which were strewn around the room. Then she placed them in a neat pile beside his shoes. Six cats wondered if there might be an unscheduled meal for them, but they settled down quickly when Ril crawled back into bed. In sixteen hours, Ril's husband (the feckless Edward Starling Prindle) would return. She wished that moment would never happen.

One block further south from Ril's bedroom, Catharine Huntington woke up in a panic. Something in that north-northwest wind sounded like a baby crying and it reminded her of Syracke Fanner.

Yes, it's true. Syracke was still out there. The police had come and gone. The ambulance had arrived and left. And most important of all, Charon Fanner's body was bagged and zipped. Clearly it shouldn't have happened this way, but it did. Everyone just forgot. It was like a day interrupted by an unexpected storm. Once the storm has passed, everyone goes about their business because the world seems to be normal again.

Shock and confusion can be such an impervious shield. They can block everything. But not forever, or at least, not for everyone. Not for Catharine Huntington, anyway. After leaving Louie's Bookstore and Café, she returned to her father's place and spent the rest of the day not speaking to him. That is, until she heard that baby's cry in the distance.

Without explaining, she woke her father and said, "I have to find the boy." She repeated the word boy and wondered why it felt right to refer to a middle-aged man as a boy. She also wondered about the man's name, but she would never know it.

So, it was for a second night that wide (wide) Catharine Huntington roamed the sparkling streets of downtown Baltimore. Once again, she walked until it was almost dawn. When she saw the first pink light coming from the east, she spun around on her heels and headed west. West toward the darkened sky. And for the rest of her life, she would keep moving and keep on chasing the perpetual darkness of the Lover's Moon.

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